Page 149 of A Forgotten Promise

Corm is still sour about that, but he’ll live.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and stifle a yawn.

He looks at me with that intense, hooded gaze. “You’ll thank me in about ninety minutes.”

I chuckle. “That’s awfully specific.”

“It’s an estimate, but I think between the traffic to the venue and the necessary time of schmoozing Vladislav, we should be right on time.”

“Right on time?” I bite my lips, my pussy singing with need.

“For you to drop to your knees, and since it will be a post-evening occasion, we won’t need to be careful about the dress.”

“But I like the dress.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and then leans in, his breath fanning my ear. “I’m fucking my wife on the way home from the venue. If you want to save the dress, you could take it off before getting in.”

“Oh, I thought we were trying to keep your image intact. I wear nothing under this dress, so taking it off will cause a scandal.”

I shiver as the most satisfying growl reverberates through his body. “I’m already pissed about all the assholes seeing you in this dress. But alas, we’ll have to rip it apart later.”

“Will we now?” I tease, but I can’t wait.

But Corm doesn’t react. He’s leaning forward, trying to see something through the window on my side.

“What the fuck, Saar?”

I follow his gaze but see only the pedestrians. Confused, I tilt my head sideways, and I see it.

“Oh, I forgot about that campaign. Jesus, I did that shoot like eight months ago.”

Corm hits the button to open the window and take a better look, clenching his fists.

The billboard is a jewelry campaign, showing only my cleavage with a large necklace.

My hair tied back, I look like I’ve just come out of the shower, droplets of water scattered around my skin. I remember wearing a bikini, but I guess they went with my neckline only.

“You look naked,” he growls.

“Maybe I was,” I tease, but by the death glare he gives me, he may not be in the mood for jokes.

“I’m not having the entire city jerking off to this.”

I try to stifle a chuckle. “You know, they have probably been jerking off to my pictures for years now.”

His nostrils flare, and I’m worried the vein in his temple might pop. At the same time, I’m trying hard not to laugh.

“Are you jealous?” I bite the inside of my cheek, but I can’t help it and grin.

His overreaction is kind of adorable. Stupid and possessive, but who knew I’m into that?

He takes a picture and starts typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but his phone rings.

He picks up without a greeting, and I hear a woman talking on the other side.

“Just get it done, Roxy. Find out where else they feature the campaign and buy those spots as well. Outbid, bribe, kill someone if you must, but get those pictures down.” He listens for a moment. “I don’t fucking care—replace them with your nephew’s drawings.” He hangs up.

---